Hands sink into the earth…
Hands sink into the earth ... sacred dirt embeds stains into the hands ... we stop noticing when this becomes the same act ... Soil under the fingernails for days ... we stop scrubbing ... What would be the ... not sure ... We kneel here and do not know why ... The ground says hear it before listening ...
Samples go into tubes and the jars go onto shelves ... The cabinets do not know what they are holding ... The glass containers do not know what they are embracing ... We do not know who we are ...
Mud now on the knees of someone whose name has been erased years ago ... worm cut in half slither in all directions ... They do not check which half knows where it is going ... Humans too often think forward as a linear direction ... A seed falls ... A root reaches downward ... Stems reach upward ... Same motion pulling two ways at once ... Like a breath that cannot decide if it is coming or ...
Everything here eats what came before ... This is the only morning meal ... The table is very long and everyone we have ever lost is sitting somewhere ... A scientist takes a sample and labels it with a number we will forget by springtime ... The number is a temp ... Rain becomes mud ... clay becomes flesh ... Dandruff washes down the drain ... Pipe returns to the ... Nothing taken ...
We oddly stay closer to what we cannot see ... The way water stays close to waves and ripples ... The way roots find the tubular filaments before we know the tubular filaments have hundreds of dependents ... What we do not record ... The temperature that time of the morning ... The name of the red owl that watched us dig ... The number of times we wiped our hands on our work pants ... The sound the soil made when we for the first time buried a secret ... as pronounced inhaling and exhaling things that the worm was carrying before it was divided from where it was going ... The mud returns with nothing solved and ...
